Customer: “I want to pay my cell phone bill.”

Me: “Sure. May I have your wireless number?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t give that out.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, I need your wireless number in order to pull up your account.”

Customer: “No! I don’t give anyone my number. That’s personal and private. Let me give you my social…”

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(I am ringing out an American. Keep in mind that Canada uses coins for $1 and $2.)

Me: “…and your change is $3.64. You have a wonderful day.”

Customer: “Excuse me, you didn’t give me the right change.”

Me: “Yes, I did.”

Customer: “No, you didn’t. You only gave me coins, no paper.”

Me: “Ma’am, we’re in Canada, and here we use coins.” *I hold up a $1 coin* “This is a loonie, and is worth $1.”

Customer: “What’s a Canada?”

(I work in a high-end high street women’s clothing store. We also sell accessories. Like most UK stores, we do not accept returns on earrings for any reasons, bar them being defective. We’ve just entered the mid-season sale period, where a lot of our jewellery is now 70% off. A fair amount of customers are returning and rebuying items to get the discounted price.)

Customer: “I want to return this set of earrings and rebuy them.”

Me: “I’m sorry. Store policy says we’re not allowed to accept returns on any earrings, unless they’re defective. Even though you’re wanting to rebuy them, I cannot process the return.”

Customer: “I WANT TO RETURN THEM!”

Me: “I’m sorry; I’m not allowed to do that.”

Customer: “Yes, you are! You’re just saying that because you don’t want to give me the sale price!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, and I assure you we do allow returning and rebuying. We just can’t accept returns on earrings unless they defective in some way.”

Customer: “I want to talk to someone else!”

(I get my assistant manager, who comes over and relays what I’ve just told the customer.)

Assistant Manager: “I’m sorry, we can’t accept the return on them unless they’re defective.”

(The customer drops the earrings on the floor, then stomps on them. She picks them up and puts them on the counter.)

Customer: “I want to return these. They’re defective.”

Assistant Manager: “We don’t accept returns on items that have been damaged purposely by customers.”

Customer: “You have no proof I broke them. It’s your words against mine, and the customer is ALWAYS right!”

Assistant Manager: “This may be true in most circumstances. Here, we have CCTV showing you damaged them yourself. I’m sorry. We cannot accept returns on them. Is there anything else you’d like me to help with today?”

Customer: “MY EARRINGS ARE BROKEN! What am I gonna do with broken earrings?!”

Me: “Would you like me to dispose of them?”

(The customer glared at my assistant manager and me, then stormed out.)

(Our hall monitor walks around with a megaphone, and is notorious for being a drill sergeant about dress code. There are rumors that he has a rule: If you are wearing low-riding pants, you can keep them as long as you can beat him in a race down the very long hallway without touching them. I never believed the rumors. One day my friends and I are hanging around before class starts.)

Friend: “What was that noise?”

(There is lots of unintelligible shouting and people start backing against the walls. Suddenly, I see the hall monitor bolting down the hallway, laughing gleefully. A few seconds after that come two boys hobbling along as fast as they can with their pants around their knees.)

Me: “Well, that’s THAT rumor settled!”

(Our clinic has an animal hotel which backs out onto the alley behind. The back entrance is for employees and for taking dogs out for walks, and so only has a small sign to indicate it is an animal clinic. It is otherwise an anonymous-looking building, in an alleyway that looks like several others behind our neighboring strip malls. One such alleyway contains a medical marijuana clinic. It is 8 am on a Sunday. A stranger in his early twenties approaches me as I am taking a dog out for his morning business. I am in my scrubs, and so on the street I am sometimes mistaken for a nurse.)

Stranger: “Hey, you work here?”

Me: “Yep, I’m new.”

Stranger: “Okay, cool. They let you bring your dog to work with you?”

Me: “No, this is one of our boarders. Can I help you with something?”

Stranger: “They shouldn’t let you keep dogs in there! What if they ate your stock?”

Me: “I assure you, the pharmacy is kept well away from them. Did you need something?”

Stranger: “Yeah, just a dime.”

Me: *blankly* “I don’t have my wallet with me, I’m sorry.”

Stranger: *also blankly* “No, I mean… could you let me into the building so I can get it?”

Me: *thinking he is joking, I laugh* “The clinic is technically closed, sorry. Besides, I don’t think I want you going through my stuff!”

Stranger: “I don’t get it! My friends said you guys are super helpful! I just want to buy a dime!”

(At this point, I finally putting the pieces together.)

Me: “Ah, actually… we aren’t that kind of clinic. That one is the next alley up, but I’m pretty sure they’re closed at this time of day. We’re an animal clinic.”

Stranger: “S***! Sorry to bother you!”

(The stranger starts to leave in the direction he came from, but then turns around and goes the way I pointed and laughs.)

Stranger: “Yeah… I might be a little high.”